Death's Miracle

This is a nihilistic past inscribed on a stone tablet. This is the trace of Thanatos, the Hand of Shadow.
No one had ever truly seen Thanatos.
All descriptions of them were either fabrications or fragments of dreams.
Poets claimed that souls were the foundation of all things.
They were carried to the farthest reaches of the west wind, transforming into fine rain that descended towards the afterlife.
Thus, with life came death, and in between, the unchanging souls flowed.
But since the black tide swept across the land, death had long eclipsed life.
The souls wandering along the banks of the River of Souls had lost their destinations,
With fewer and fewer of them returning to this world.
Emptiness bred deceit, and death nurtured fear.
Had Thanatos, too, been corroded by the black tide? Had they been driven mad and no longer ferried souls?
Or, as the most pessimistic fools feared,
Had the god of death long perished in silence?